


The Apple Of My Eye

by KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apples, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Yes i used to live in the South West what of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 09:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18601678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation/pseuds/KayOsmondsFireweedFoundation
Summary: “I chose it for its colour.”Aziraphale had to admit that he’d chosen well; the skin was a rich, adulterous red, the colour of blood and wine and lips bruised by teeth.“And how did you do that, love?”“I just knew. Knew right from the seed that it would be exactly what I wanted,” Crowley stated proudly. “I have what you might call an affinity for apples.”





	The Apple Of My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Guess which nerd got inspired to write this fic after eating a particularly red apple
> 
> Footnotes at the end of the fic

It was late in the afternoon as Aziraphale stood at the counter of his Soho bookshop, shuffling through various papers and receipts. Crowley stood across the room, facing a bookshelf, pretending to read the titles.

“Fancy a snack, angel?” he said suddenly.

Aziraphale looked up at him over the rim of his glasses, interested but suspicious. “Always. Why?”

With a languid flick of the wrist, the demon summoned an apple into being.

“Now dear,” the angel quirked a reproving brow, “you know how I feel about food that’s been magicked out of the firmament.”

“Oh, that’d not what I’ve done,” Crowley replied carelessly, throwing and catching the apple in one hand, the other resting lazily in his pocket. “This apple was grown on a tree in an orchard in the South West, picked two weeks ago and then shipped to the local distribution centre.”

“Oh?”

“From there, it was packed with five of its friends in plastic wrap before being sent to the Tesco Express in Minehead, Somerset, where it was bought by a mother of three.”

“I see.” Aziraphale looked slightly concerned as to where this story was going.

“As it so happens, it had just been dipped in chocolate and handed to her youngest child when, bam!” His dormant hand leapt from his pocket and seized the fruit mid-flight. “I stole it away.”

“Oh? Oh!” Aziraphale chuckled and leant forward on the counter. “Oh, you villain!”(1) He had meant it to sound more sarcastic and less seduced, but he did find Crowley’s particular brand of buffoonery rather comely so he supposed it made no odds.

Crowley strode up to the opposite side of the counter to rest on one sharp elbow. He lifted the apple so that it hovered in the space between their faces.

“I chose it for its colour.”

Aziraphale had to admit that he’d chosen well; the skin was a rich, adulterous red, the colour of blood and wine and lips bruised by teeth.

“And how did you do that, love?”

“I just knew. Knew right from the seed that it would be exactly what I wanted,” Crowley stated proudly. “I have what you might call an affinity for apples.”

“Why do I not find that hard to believe?”

Crowley pouted coyly. “Because I’m the apple of your eye?”

The angel laughed. “That too.”

Slowly, Crowley dragged his tongue against the apple’s smooth skin. Aziraphale watched, chin in hand, amused and more than a little bit aroused. The demon made a show of circling the base of the stem with the tip of his tongue, then flicked his fangs into being and sliced through its skin. The flesh beneath showed pale as an inner thigh, and he sucked a bite away with salacious reverence (2) .

He chewed and swallowed, then tilted the apple forwards. “Now, angel,” he crooned, “wouldst thou partake of the forbidden fruit?”

Aziraphale licked his lips. “You’re trying to tempt me, serpent.”

“You don’t ssssay?” Crowley swayed a little closer, grinning. “One little bite, angel. One little tasssste…”

Purposefully, Aziraphale took the demon’s bony wrist in one hand and cupped the apple together with Crowley’s fingers against the other soft palm. Without breaking eye contact he brought the apple to his plush lips and kissed the crimson skin. Crowley flushed, despite himself, then shivered most ungracefully as the angel grazed him fingers with his tongue. Aziraphale smirked and took a big bite with perfect white teeth.

He barely had time to swallow before Crowley darted forward to kiss him, open and wanton, forked tongue pushing between his teeth to swirl in the sweetness of his mouth. They broke off, panting, foreheads pressed together.

“That is a very good apple,” Aziraphale admitted breathlessly.

“Of course it is,” Crowley said smugly. “I picked it on purpose, remember?”

“Quite. Now,” the angel said, leaning forward to seize him by the lapel, “on the subject of tasting forbidden fruit…”

“I thought you’d never ask.” With one fluid motion, the demon tossed the apple over his shoulder to where it rolled under a bookshelf, never to be seen again (3).

\---------------------------------------------------------

(1): Aziraphale needn’t have worried. The child had been grieving the waste of perfectly good chocolate on a yucky apple, so the sudden disappearance of this unwelcome contribution to his five-a-day, leaving him with a blob of chocolate on a stick, was a sudden delight. Add to this the pleasure of his mother on seeing the apple gone and assuming that her ploy had worked, and Crowley’s little trick has done rather more good than harm.

(2): The only problem, Crowley reflected, was that it wasn’t juicy enough. It was as juicy as an apple could be, but that wasn’t _really_ enough to get a good, filthy slurp on. Ideally he’d have done this with a different fruit (a peach would have dribbled magnificently), but then he’d have lost the significance of the symbolism, and Crowley was as ostentatious in his wooing as he was in every other aspect of his life.

(3): Except by the rat who found it that evening and carried it back to his wife and children. It fed them all handsomely, which only added to the lack of harm achieved by Crowley that day. Maybe seducing an angel made up for it, who knows?

**Author's Note:**

> [ poetry/writing tumblr](https://kay-osmonds-fireweed-foundation.tumblr.com/)   
>  [poetry instagram](https://www.instagram.com/fireweedfoundation/)


End file.
